


"Holy Fucking Hell!"

by kavikdante33



Series: Talking Dirty [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon!Dean, Dirty Talk, M/M, Rough Sex, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Season/Series 10 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kavikdante33/pseuds/kavikdante33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If a hug was enough to halt the effects of the Mark of Cain on Dean, Gabriel theorizes that doing something more might be enough to erase it. No plan survives the first battle though; Sam's still searching for brain bleach, Kevin dives back into the closet, and Charlie is frustrated by the lack of magical creature specifics in Harry Potter. </p><p>Dean, on the other hand, is having a hell of a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Expectro Pornium

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this conversation I had with my mom at the end of the season nine final.
> 
> Mom: "Holy fucking hell!"  
> Me: "Nope, hopefully that's in season ten."
> 
> Since that hasn't happened yet, I wrote my own. Let's start the new year out right with some funny smut. Also, the word count for the first chapter was a happy accident, ending up at 6,669 words. I couldn't do that again if I tried.

To use a cliché, it was quiet. Too quiet.

 Every single magnificent hair on Sam’s head was gracefully standing to attention. Those trusty hunter instincts and years of Murphy’s Law were screaming something was wrong. Setting down the take out and groceries, he reached down his back for his gun, running an inventory of weapons in his head. Knife in left boot, flask of holy water inside left jacket pocket, and an exorcism cued up on his phone, right outside pocket. The more dangerous weapons were locked up in the bunker’s armory and going back to the Impala to stock up would take time. Time Sam wasn’t sure he had.

  _Next time_ , Sam vowed, _Dean can make do with canned spaghetti-O’s instead of pestering me into running all the way across town for his favorite grub. Just cause he’s benched doesn’t mean I’m his beck and call girl. I’m going to salt his beer and apple pie if there’s trouble._

Sam paused at the entrance of the upper mezzanine of the Bat Cave. The machines were silent and half of the lights were off. Sam called out, “Guys, Charlie, what’s with the lights?” There was no rush of footsteps competing for the best takeout or catcalls at his return. If it was closer to his birthday and he was a normal civilian, he would half expect a surprise party. Thankfully everyone in the bunker was well aware of the pitfalls of Winchester celebrations and the tendency of said “surprises” to be shot at.

 Cautiously, Sam began to descend the stairs. The bunker was supposed to be a safe home for them, warded and protected against all manner of monsters. Maybe this was just a fluke? Charlie had mentioned something about testing out their systems. Maybe she and Kevin had gotten in over their heads and blown out a transformer or something. They had probably run into town for supplies to fix it and that’s why they weren’t here. Sam desperately clung to his theory despite the fact that he could remember seeing Charlie’s bright yellow Gremlin in the garage. They could have taken another vehicle right? Sam dug into his pockets for his phone. A flashing icon alerted him to a missed phone call. Sam’s heart began to beat faster at the voicemail message.

 It was Castiel’s number.

 Cas had become _slightly_ better at blending in with humanity. This really meant he was now viewed as an eccentric instead of an alien in a trench coat. Phones continued to be a major learning experience. Cas could make and receive calls with no trouble but that’s were his skills plateaued. He grew frustrated at the limitations and abbreviations of text messages and had an inherent dislike for voice mail. The first dozen burner phones they had bought him suffered from “accidental” smiting and other ignoble endings. He preferred speaking to the brothers directly and always called Dean first. For him to leave a message to the Winchester he ignored for an entire year, well, it couldn’t be anything good.

 With great trepidation, Sam pressed the button.

 “…. _Sam_ ….. _Charl_ …. _Kev_ ……. _leave the_ … _ker_ …..- _am_ … _stay_ _away_ …...... _ack_ ….. _Sam_ ……. _mons_ ……… _DEAN! NO!_..............”

 The static filled message ended with those chilling words and loud crashes. For one second Sam stared in disbelief at his phone. Then he snapped into action. Speed dial one and Sam was connected to Dean’s phone.

 “ _Dean’s phone_...”

 “Dean! What the hell happened! Where are you?!”

 “… _I’m busy killing monsters and raising a little hell. Leave a message or call Sammy the Sasquatch_.”

 If Dean wasn’t injured or dead, Sam was going to make him so. He rapidly dialed Cas’ number, hoping the angel hadn’t silenced his phone. Again. One ring, two, and then three.

 “ _Hello. This is my phone. I am unable to directly speak to you at this present time. If you wish to communicate, wait until I have finished speaking and leave a message at the prompting. I will review it at an appropriate time. If it is an emergency, pray and I will hear you. Otherwise contact Dean and Sam Winc_ \- **_Beeeeeeeep_** ”

 Well on the bright side, Cas’ phone still worked and he remembered that Sam existed. The crappy reverse was that _no one was_ _picking up their goddamn phone_.

  _Okay, Sam, move on. Get intel. Dean and Cas are MIA, who’s next?_ Charlie. She never went anywhere some electronic gadget. Sam was pretty sure she slept with her phone, like some electronic teddy bear.

  _“I’m the sorry, the number you are trying to reach is out of service. Please try your call again at a later time. Goodbye”._

Sam would have to hunt down and salt and burn the body of whoever made these prerecordings. They were clearly an evil spirit designed to torture those frantically trying to communicate with missing siblings with their perky voices of doom. They even had the audacity to wish their victims ‘goodbye’.

 Okay, one more shot. Kevin was almost as anal as Charlie about keeping his phone on him. Missing a phone call from Mama Tran was a terrifying experience no one in the bunker was anxious to repeat. Sam involuntarily shuddered at the memory. He dialed Kevin’s number from memory, half-heartedly praying to a trickster archangel, an absent, drunk god, or any deity that would listen that Kevin would pick up.

 And maybe Someone was slightly sober, because the call connected and was _ringing_. Sam let out a shaky exhale, pacing around the mission control center, heading towards the library. Geez, Kevin’s ringtone was loud, so loud in fact that it appeared to be echoing…

 Murphy’s real name must have been Winchester. Sam halted on the sigils embedded in the threshold of the library, staring into the dim room. He slowly lowered his phone from his ear, still able to hear Kevin’s ringtone perfectly clear. He walked over to table were the phone was vibrating across the surface next to Kevin and Charlie’s laptops. Sam gently pushed the ignore button. When he next saw Kevin (and was going to be _when_ , not _if_ ) he was going to have a little chat about his assigned ringtone.

  _Fuck. My. Life._

 He collapsed into the chair, the seat cold. Despondently he woke up the laptop from its hibernation. The computer beeped indignantly at him and then demanded a password. For the hell of it, he typed in _Winchestersruineverything_. Access denied. _Ihatemylife_. Access denied. _kevintranprophetofthelord_. Access granted. Sam figured he should also talk to Kevin about his security but since it made his job easier, he’d let it slide.

 Various blueprints and schematics popped up on the screen. An excel program listed a jumble of letters and a series of random numbers. Sam couldn’t make heads or tails of it until he clicked on the next document. His previous theory of Charlie and Kevin upgrading the bunker’s network seemed to be solid. A check list of components needed for repairs was a third of the way crossed off. Slouching back in the chair, Sam let out a sigh. Just cause most of Heaven and Hell were still gunning for the Winchester brothers, didn’t mean that _every_ snafu was a retaliation hit.

 (You would think he would know better.)

 The lamps on the table flickered at first, casting the library into winding shadows. Then they died. The laptops and phones sparked and the smell of burnt plastic and scorched metal filled Sam’s nostrils. Then they died. The rest of the lights didn’t even bother flickering. They died completely.

 Sam Winchester was left sitting alone in the dark with no way to call for help or any idea where his brother and friends were. He reminded himself what a snafu was and that _everyone_ was out to get him for one reason or another. Then he got up and went to work.

 Cautiously pulling away from the table he took eight evenly paced steps. Stretching out his fingers, he brushed the edge of the bookcases. Sticking to the edges of the room, Sam mentally compared the pitch black room to the blueprints in his head. Just a few more feet to the left and there should be…

  _BANG!_

 Yep, his knees had successfully found the cabinet. Ignoring the throbbing, he traced a hand down the front until he came to the third handle. Carefully pulling the drawer open Sam scrounged around in the corners until his fingers grasped a matchbook. Steeling himself he reached down again until he grasped a cold, waxy item. His own flesh chilled as he pulled out the candle. Setting it down on top of the cabinet he struck a match. The light flared, trembling shadows appearing over the object. Sam applied the match to the wick and reluctantly picked up his improvised night light.

 “ _AAAHHHHH!”_ He did _not_ scream like a little girl, Sam was just a little taken back. Anyone would be.

 Rotting fingers clamped down, unwilling to release their prize of living flesh. Broken fingernails dug into his skin, leaving behind angry red crescent marks on Sam’s flailing limb. Then it froze, a grotesque bracelet adorning the hunter’s wrist. Unholy green flames sprouted from the Hand of Glory, turning its bearer into a ghostly specter.

 “A thief’s best friend,” Sam murmured, trying to reassure himself. Hopefully this time would end better for everyone than their last case involving a Hand of Glory. “Or a desperate hunter’s.”

 The Men of Letters had all sorts of goodies like the hand scattered around. Most of them had an _interesting_ history attached to them. This hand was used several times by the society to unburden the uninformed masses from occult objects and those in the know from items that they really, _really_ shouldn’t have. A certain spear had been promptly packed away under several new wards designed by an advance placement prophet and one of heaven’s most imaginative angels. Sam really wished he had it now. Oh well, he’d make do with the weapons at hand.

 Normally well light corridors were instead painted with ghastly shadows in the wake of Sam’s passage. He would have gladly endured the warning sirens and flashing red lights of an emergency lockdown over the current lighting. The eerie, pale light aggravated his already tightly strung nerves.

 The hunter moved stealthily down the hallways, checking every room, broom closet, and storage cabinet possible. If he could have eeled himself into the one mouse hole he found, he would have. It would be just his luck that it contained a possessed rat of N.I.M.H that would bite him in the ass and give him demonic rabies.

 The library, galley, and infirmary were clear. Sam debated on tackling the living quarters and dungeon with just his current weapons. The armory was located further away on the opposite side of the bunker down one level, while the living quarters were one short hallway over.

 “What the hell,” Sam muttered to himself. If something was powerful enough to get through several decades worth of Men of Letters warding, an Angel of the Lord’s additions, and the Winchester’s own booby traps, even the weapons in the armory might not be enough to stop it. Besides, there were several more guns in his quarters and he had seen Charlie smuggle a very real looking Lord of the Rings sword into her own room.

  _Whatta know, an extra hand comes in handy,_ Sam mused, mentally slapping himself for the pun. A Hand of Glory could open almost every lock, but it was very difficult to maneuver into touching the locks while wrapped around a wrist. Finally, the door clicked open, revealing Kevin’s room. The prophet’s bedroom/mad scientist’s lair was covered in translations, spell work, and dirty clothes. He had been working tirelessly on their newest problem and the age old fight against Hell. Charlie had managed to drag him out of his self-imposed hermitage the first hour she had arrived by starting an argument over who was a better captain; Kirk or Reynolds. Kevin had fallen out of his seat, blinking owlishly at the unknown girl who shoved Chinese takeout at him and answered with ‘Solo’. The two had been inseparable ever since. Neither one of them were currently in the room however.

 Charlie’s room was also empty but with all the electronic and convention merchandise Charlie had hauled in; it was difficult to see if there had been a struggle or search of her room. The sword rack Dean had installed for her was held both real and fake blades. One of the rack spaces was empty. Sam really hoped that Charlie had an offhanded urge to practice with a fake sword rather than a more lifesaving need for a real blade. Sam didn’t pray to God anymore but since the only two angels he did weren’t answering, he was about to make an exception. _Let them be safe, please, God, let them be alive and safe. I can’t lose anyone else. Please._

A muffled crash interrupted his prayer, putting him on higher alert. The bunker had been completely silent since the power went out, only his slight breathing and rustle of clothing to accompany him on his search. Forcing himself to check carefully around the door, he swiftly cleared the remaining empty rooms and proceeded down the hall. His eyes narrowed upon reaching the corridor that housed his room.

 His door was ajar.

 Sam had spent years sharing confining spaces with his at times obnoxious and too curious brother. Even at Stanford he had shared an apartment with several guys before moving in with Jess. Privacy had been a hard thing to come by and one of the greatest things Sam enjoyed when finding out about the bunker. He had threatened and cajoled Dean to never, _ever,_ enter his room without express permission unless it was an emergency. Dean had agreed, just as happy to have his own room away from a nosey little brother that liked to steal his socks.

 Kevin and Charlie, being more socially adjusted, didn’t even need the warning. The only hiccup had been teaching Cas to knock instead of apperating in unannounced during Sam’s, er, _private moments_. Dean had laughed until he was prostrate on the floor crying. A red faced Sam had dumped him in an empty storage room and drew sigils on the door. Cas was still miffed at Dean for being his boneheaded sacrificial self and Kevin was busy researching Hell’s hierarchy, so it had fallen to Charlie to get Dean out of the room. She also had a heart-to-heart with Cas about relatively normal human social behavior once Dean had promised her tickets to Comic Con. The angel had learned to knock and Sam had always, _always_ locked his room, adding angel proofing to all the other monster deterrents.

 His door shouldn’t be open.

 Crouching low, he sidled up against the entranceway, weighing his options. Blow the candle out and hope whatever was in his room didn’t have great night vision or…

  _Thump_

 Option two, guns blazing.

 “ _Hey!_ ” Sam Winchester barreled through the door so hard it bounced back and almost smacked him in the face.

 A pale face shrieked at him, hands up and outstretched. Sam caught a flash of red before it dove back into the closet escaping a bullet. Sam blinked, replaying the last few seconds in his head. He didn’t know many monsters that ran away from a potential meal.

 He knew even less that wore Moondoor t-shirts and plaid.

 Holstering his gun in the back of his belt, he spoke, “Charlie? It’s okay, it’s me, Sam. Sorry if I scared you, I, uh, had to improvise on the flashlight.”

 Charlie’s babble was slightly muffled through the solid cedar door but still understandable. “Sam! Dear sweet Tolkien, I thought you were a Wraith or one of the undead warriors, jeez, are those real? I mean, Dean said they weren’t but then he said wait, wraiths are and that we should have a Lord of the Rings marathon ‘cause Cas had never seen them and Dean promised to get me a silver blade and let me reenact the scene where Eowyn is a complete badass and takes out the Wraith King ‘cause no man could do it. Uh, were you going to shoot me? Because I am so staying in here if you were, there’s enough dangerous things outside this closet that want to kill me, I’m not planning on adding to it. You’re not possessed again, are you? That would suck. Oh, Christo!”

 Sam managed to muffle his groan as his adopted baby sister accused him of trying to kill her. Only Winchesters, blood or otherwise, would have to hear such a frequent complaint. “Charlie, how exactly were you planning on checking to see if Christo turned my eyes black from inside your bolt hole? They’re not, just fyi,” Sam replied testily.

 “Oh.” An embarrassed silence wafted from behind the door. “Um, exorcizamus te, omnis immunde spiritus-”

 “Its immundus spiritus,” Sam interrupted. He proceeded to rattle off the entire exorcism without any black smoke erupting from under the closet door. “Great, now that we’ve settled that neither one of us is possessed, Charlie… _why_ are you in the closet?”

 “I’m not in the closet! I mean, I am, in a closet. Your closet, to be exact. But I’m fully out of the closet, just not in this particular instance. These are special circumstances. Oh, wow, you sure do have a lot of plaid. The books were not kidding.”

 Sam vowed once again to hunt down Chuck and break every one of his fingers. Those damn books were going to burn even if he had to unleash Lucifer to destroy them. The rest of the world would just have to take their chances.

 “Charlie! What special circumstances? What happened? And where is everyone? Have you seen Dean, Cas, or Kevin?”

 “Uh, hi Sam, I’m in the closet also.” The puzzled and long suffering voice of the world’s only AP Prophet of the Lord sounded out along with several suspicious thumps and rattles.

 “Kevin, great, come out whenever you want. Now guys, _what the hell happened_? Where’s Dean and Cas? ”

 The rustling and mumbling fell silent for a moment before Kevin spoke up. “We’re mentally scarred as always, but physically unharmed. Thanks for asking. Uh, you haven’t found Cas yet? _Really?_ He wasn’t exactly being subtle.” While Kevin’s day probably hadn’t gone exactly as he envisioned it would when he first woke up, due to the fact he was hiding in the dark in a closet; neither had Sam’s. In fact, Sam’s day was going so rapidly downhill he’d be able to stop by and have a chat with Lucifer in a few more hours.

 “No, I’m playing hide-n-seek with myself in the dark for the hell of it,” Sam snapped peevishly. “Now for the third and _final_ time, _where’s Dean!_?” All the fear, anxiety, and frustration of this day, no week, the past _years_ , thundered through the room, bouncing down the corridors with the command and strength of the man who was once chosen to lead armies. Demon armies, but still. He would have his answer or heads would roll. Whether that was metaphorically or literally was all hinging on Charlie and Kevin’s answers.

 Dead silence issued from the closet before both Kevin and Charlie started to raise their voices, shouting over one another to be heard. Sam let the babble wash over him for a minute, the noise fading into the background as a soothing calmness washed over him from somewhere inside him. He slowly stalked across the room, each step methodically placed, weight evenly distributed, arms loose and ready at his side. He stopped directly in front of the closet, eying it with vicious intent and a smile.

  _BAM!_

 That first hammered knock felt so good, Sam didn’t see any reason to stop.

  _BAM! BAM!BAM!_ And one final blow for good measure upon the innocent door to shut up the closet’s inhabitants.

 “Now that I have your attention; here’s how it’s going to go,” he said, the small smile turning into a parody of a grin that would make the Joker proud. “I will ask a question and Charlie will answer first and then Kevin. You will be clear and concise. Am I understood?”

 “Yes, Sam,” Charlie answered meekly.

 “Sir, yes, sir.” Living with the Winchesters had given Kevin some backbone, the sarcastic little shit. After this was all over and everyone was safe and accounted for, Sam would take them out for ice cream as an apology. Till then, they would all just have to suck it up and deal.

 Now he had to deal. He desperately wanted to know the current whereabouts and status of his brother but he also had a duty to the other inhabitants of the bunker. Kevin and Charlie might not be stuck-in-the-dark civilians being fed a load of crap but they weren’t experienced hunters either. Dean had proven to be mostly indestructible even before he had a fiercely protective celestial boyfriend stalking him 24/7. Cas would die, _had_ _died_ , to protect Dean. He was probably better off than the rest of them.

 Sam sighed, struggling to ignore the guilt that demanded he find Dean before anything else. “First off, did anything attack from the outside? Anything get through the bunker’s defenses?” A battle on two fronts was not something he wanted or needed.

 “Uh, I’m not sure. Kevin?”

 “No, Charlie and I hadn’t gotten around to upgrading the wards which would require them to be deactivated for a bit. They were fully active and nothing short of the equivalent of a supernatural tactical warhead could have gotten through. If it had, this place would have been blown to Hoth and back. Even then it might just destroy the physical bunker and leave the warding activated.”

 Sam grimaced at the imagery, shoulders still knotted with anxiety. It was great there was no known outside threat, but that still didn’t eliminate the internal unseen one. Which was bringing Sam to his next question…

 “…If nothing attacked, what caused you to go hiding in the closet and all the lights to die? You can come out by the way. Promise not to bite.”

 Rapid muffled whispering leaked from behind the door followed by a high pitched yelp as if some had elbowed someone else in the side. Charlie cleared her throat, “uh, Cas told us not to come out until he came and got us himself. He was _really_ specific on that. He basically chucked us into your room and he had that _look_ , you know? The Smitey McSmitter with a large helping of badass and centuries old warrior with a grace cherry on top. Sprinkles optional.”

 Sam was familiar with that look. He had seen it often, mostly directed at Dean when he had done something suicidally brave, but it had been aimed at him once or twice. He had backed off and let Cas get his smite on. He couldn’t blame Charlie or Kevin for doing the same. The closet seemed like overkill however. “How did Cas throw you in the closet? My room is warded against angels, even Gabriel can’t get in.” In the grand scheme of things, a prophet of the Lord and one of the world’s best hackers hiding in a closet wasn’t that important. It was going to bug Sam until he figured out the weird little detail however.

 “They still can’t. Like Charlie said, Cas pushed us into your room. Guess it was the closest warded room he could get us to. The closet was my idea. Cas couldn’t get in but I wasn’t sure about the thing. I figured a warded room was good, but another realm was even better.” Even though Sam couldn’t see Kevin, he could hear the smug Advance-Placement- _bitches_ tone.

 “ _Another realm?”_ Sam’s little trips to other planes of existence had never worked out so well. “Where were you going to go? Narnia?”

 “Dorothy says ‘hi’ by the way and hopes you’re keeping her bike in top shape, otherwise she’s gonna kick your ass,” Charlie piped up.

 Great, just what he needed, a pissed-off, time-displaced, realm-hoping hunter on his ass for dinging her bike. “So something was in the bunker, Cas got defensive and placed you in protective custody, and instead you go tripping down the yellow brick road. All right campers, vacations over, out of the closet. You are going to tell me about the _thing_ , face-to-face.”

 The closet’s lock clicked open and the door opened a fraction of a hair. When nothing tried to rush it, Kevin and Charlie exited, the point of Charlie’s sword leading the way, lit up by her phone’s flashlight app. Charlie had apparently not told Kevin why she thought he was a Ring Wraith because the kid took one quick glance at Sam and dived back into the closet with what Sam was generously going to call a manly noise of surprise. Sam sighed, “It’s a Hand of Glory, Kevin, I’m not a spirit. I just needed to see in the dark.”

 “Right. I knew that. Just had to get my bag. Didn’t want to leave a bunch of spell components in your closet, they’d begin to stink after a while.” Kevin emerged from the closet with a bulging backpack. His cargo pant pockets were also suspiciously full and he clinked as he walked towards Sam.

 Sam eyed the pockets warily. “None of those are going to explode, right?”

 “They shouldn’t, as long as they are individually contained. I grabbed some stuff to use to check on Dean before Cas grabbed us, mainly protective and defensive components. The rest I picked up in Oz.” Kevin was still staring at Sam. “And this day just keeps on getting weirder and weirder, I mean, weirder than the normal around this place.”

 Sam gave him a wry grin and motioned for them both to sit on the edge of his bed. He scrounged around for candles and a lighter. The current mood lighting was irritating. Everyone gave a small sigh of relief as the room brightened with natural candlelight. Sam leaned against his desk, shifting lore and his Dad’s journal to clear a seat on it. He might have fidgeted with the papers a bit more than necessary, making sure all the edges were perfectly straightened and parallel. Knowing could be as big a bitch as not knowing.

 “You said you were going to check on Dean. Is he alright? As right as can be expected anyway?” Sam asked hopefully.

 Kevin and Charlie glanced at each other and then away, Charlie staring at her shoelaces and Kevin at a spot above and past Sam’s left shoulder. _Shit_.

 “He was still in quarantine last I knew,” Kevin said, pokerfaced, still not meeting Sam’s eyes. “Charlie and I never made past the living quarters. We grabbed our stuff and when we came out of Charlie’s room, we were ambushed. By the thing. Cas arrived in time to save our bacon.” Kevin did meet Sam’s eyes then. “It came from the direction of the quarantine ward. All the spell work should still be in place, but I can’t guarantee anything Sam. Charlie and I went through to Oz almost immediately so I don’t know if it can get through protected rooms or not. Sorry.”

 The hunter forced himself to remain calm, to not give into the temptation to throw things or shout ‘that’s not good enough!’ like a whiney kid. Kevin and Charlie did not deserve that. Dean was fine. Sam was going to break his arm for being so stupid out in the field, kick his ass for the phone message, and give him a wedgie so Dean could feel how big of pain in the ass he was. Dean had to be alive for him to do those things. “He has to be,” Sam muttered to himself.

 A hand laid on his shoulders caused him to jolt. Charlie was looking up at him, sweet, bright, optimistic Charlie. “He’ll be fine. No stupid Dementor could harm him. He’s got loads of great memories, bet his Patronus is phenomenal.”

 “Dementor?”

 “It wasn’t a Dementor, Charlie! Thinking happy thoughts aren’t going to magically repel it or let you fly and your sword definitely wasn’t going to cut it,” Kevin interrupted with the exasperation of a well-worn argument.

 “You said it yourself, you didn’t know what it was, so it could have been a Dementor,” she shot back. “Not a strigha, banshee, or poltergeist. It didn’t have a corporal form so that knocks out vampires, werewolves, rugarus, and about every other thing in the database. And the sword might have worked; Cas _and_ Gabriel laid enchantments on it.”

 Sam blinked, the rest of his body struggling to either run away from the potential nuclear weapon or remain still as not to be spotted as a target. _Cas likes Charlie and would never to hurt her on purpose._ _Gabriel likes the free entertainment and would_ probably _keep her alive_. _Jesus Christ, I’m stealing that thing first chance I get and pitching it into a volcano. I’ll buy her a replacement at Con._

 “So it was some sort of spirit!” Kevin argued, oblivious to Sam’s concerns about their possible imminent destruction.

 “A spirit you and I hadn’t seen in the lore? A spirit that Cas didn’t even have a name for? If it looks like a Dementor, sounds like a Dementor, and tries to suck your soul out like a Dementor, than it’s a Dementor.”

 “Wait,” Sam asked incredulously, “suck out your soul?”

 Kevin picked up the narrative then. “Okay, so maybe J.K. Rowling knows about a new species of Dementors, ones she didn’t write about in the books. I would have said it was a demon. This great big sentient cloud of doom comes roaring out of the basement, moving like a demon. The color was wrong though. It wasn’t black like an average run of the mill devil. It wasn’t red like Crowley either. This thing was grey shot with lightning streaks of white, like polished marble. It started to dive bomb us, shrieking and howling, and then Cas flew in. He threw us in your room and told us to stay put. The thing went ballistic. It swarmed all around him like a cyclone. Then it tried to eat Cas’ face and pour itself down his throat. That’s a demon’s M.O. You and Dean have kicked up a whole bunch of new nightmares these last few weeks. It could be a new type of demon or some other type of hell spawn. We don’t know. We don’t even know if it is still in the building, which is why I’d like to get back into the nice doubly protected closet and head back to Oz.”

 Sam flinched at the feeling of cold, dead flesh brushing against his cheek as he inadvertently scrubbed at his face, trying to rid himself of the frustration he felt. “Is Cas alright?”

 Cas had endured so much fighting at the brothers side, losing his own siblings and place in Heaven, falling from grace and rising again, sacrificing himself for Dean, for Sam. Cas would die if he thought it would protect others. The Winchesters were actually horrible role models for impressionable angels.

 “Cas is just as badass as Dean,” Charlie said. “He started to glow, like nuclear reactor glow. The Dementor didn’t like that. It pulled back from its evil French kiss and swirled around him even more rapidly, I was getting dizzy just watching.” Charlie cocked her head to the side, brow scrunching in puzzlement. “Cas didn’t fight it though, he just started to glow. I mean all he had to do is tell us to close our eyes and smite it. He didn’t. Didn’t even reach for his sword. Kinda got the feeling he was more irritated than anything. That’s when he made Kevin and I hide in your room and stalked down the hall, coat swishing like Snape’s robes.”

 “And how long ago was this?”

 “Um, the lights started flickering almost as soon as you left. Maybe fifteen minutes after that Kevin and I where on our way to check on Dean. You burst in on us as soon as we got back, so-,” Charlie said.

 “-So Kevin’s right, it could still be here. All right, you two stay here and don’t leave this room. I’m gonna check it out and find Dean and Cas. If I’m not back in thirty, head for Oz. Get Dorothy and try to find an exit either to Mrs. Tran or Sheriff Mills. Got it?” Sam ordered.

 “Yeah, we’ll be fine, Sam. Just find Dean and Cas,” Kevin said.

 “Hey,” Sam said, reassuringly smiling at Charlie, who was nervously biting her lip, “I’ll be fine. Dean and Cas will be fine. I’m sure Cas has already handled the situation and is probably just lecturing Dean for touching something that he shouldn’t have. I’ll be back in a few and then we’ll all go out for ice cream and bitch about how weird our lives are, okay?”

 “Okay, Sam.”

 Sam nodded and picked up a few more weapons from the cache in his room. He silently mouthed to Kevin, “ _be ready to run_ ,” and girded himself to leave the room. The door shut behind him with an ominous thud, shutting off the warm comforting glow of candlelight and leaving him with his grisly accessory to light the way.

 Now that he had a destination in mind, he cleared the rest of the rooms at lightning speed. He didn’t even linger over Dean’s slightly dusty room. Well, not too much. The door to the quarantine ward was behind the iron door at the end of the hall. It looked undisturbed.

 He rapped on the door, knock echoing down the hall. “Dean? You okay in there? Dean? Hey, tap back man; let me know you’re okay? There’s something in the bunker. I don’t want to take the chance of breaking your protections from it, so knock. Dean? Dammit Dean, answer me! _Dean!_

  _WHOOOOOOSHHHHH!_

_“AAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!”_

 Sam went ass over teakettle as the grey cloud Kevin had described leaked out from under the sealed, warded, and locked door like it was passing through a sieve and tangled up the younger Winchester.

 He panicked.

 “Gaah!” He swung wildly with an angel blade. It never connected. The spirit or whatever it was dissolved when the blade came even close and was adept at evading its edge. It seemed to toy with Sam, writhing around Sam’s arms and legs, bright sparks firing inside the main cloud of its form. Sam’s hand accidently passed through one of the tendrils; it felt like passing through a bank of fog, cool and moist, droplets of dew sticking to the skin. It also carried the sharp bite of millions of tiny static shocks. It was more uncomfortable than painful but Sam didn’t want to see if that changed.

 He lunged upwards with his blade, the beginnings of an exorcism on his lips, hoping that either or both would kill or hurt it. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundu- _urk!_ ” The tendrils grew into thick tentacles and shoved Sam down, spread-eagled across the floor with one tentacle wrapped around Sam’s neck and jaw, forcing his mouth closed _. I’m going to be strangled to death by a supernatural version of Dean’s anime porn. Fuck you God, Fate, and Gabriel for good measure. I’m sure this is all your fault._

Struggling proved useless; the thing looked as insubstantial as fog but could clearly make its self as tangible as it wanted. Sam watched as the outermost edges of the cloud rolled back in to the center mass, convalescing into a solid, humanoid-looking form. Charlie was right; it could pass as a Dementor’s distant cousin. Dark grey eye sockets with lightning sparking from them appeared above a gapping, hungry looking void that could possible pass as a mouth. A mouth that was slowly getting closer and closer to Sam’s own face.

 A dry rattling noise issued from its mouth, as if the creature was trying to speak. _A death rattle_ , Sam hysterically thought, brain scrambling for any plan that would allow it take one more breath of its own. _Don’t bother sucking out my soul; sloppy seconds don’t make for a good meal. I’d hate to give you indigestion with my sulfur tinted soul. Have a mint instead._

The horrible black hole was an inch away from Sam when the lighting in its eye sockets started to spark with alarming frequency. The wheezing of air grew louder, shrieking and rasping, every breath Sam exhaled the creature inhaled. The spirit paused, twisting its head back towards the quarantine room, tentacles rapidly shifting between misty vapors and solidity. The unexpected action gave Sam some leeway in groping for his fallen sword. His fingers just brushed the sharp cool tip when the spirit shrieked like one of the damned of hell, let go completely of Sam, and rose up to meet the _other_ sentient cloud of doom that was barreling out of the quarantine door.

 The collision of the two spirits was the last thing Sam saw before he was forced to shut his eyes. The newest spirit was a blaze of light, burning brighter against the darker contrast of its opponent. It exuded no physical heat but Sam’ bones felt like they were ablaze. The sound of the two titans battling made him cover his ears, the Dementor’s cries echoed by a higher pitch shrieking, an almost staticky whine of half understood voices that Sam _knew_.

  _Angel_.

 The nuclear cloud was _an angel_.

 There were only two angels that knew precisely were the bunker was, much less invited in past its protections. Cas. It had to be Cas. Sam still having his eyeballs and not being turned into an animal of some sort with antlers weighed things heavily towards it being Cas and not Gabriel that was acting as his Patronus.

 The light show behind Sam’s eyes abruptly stopped and so did the noise. Cracking opening a single eyelid revealed no wrath filled angel and Dementor. Sam scrambled to his feet, sword in hand and threw open the quarantine door with no clear plan in mind other than to protect his brother and Cas from the spirit.

 “ _Holy Fucking Hell!_ ”

 “Acc-uh, uh-rate” Dean gasped, spine bowing under the force of the body thrusting into him. Years of sharing hotel rooms with his exhibitionist of a brother, stitching him up after bloody hunts and that one time Dean got drugged in Wichita and streaked down main had desensitized Sam to his unclothed brother. He had walked in on his brother having sex as well. What really caused his brain to break was the visual knowledge that Dean seemed really into bottoming and Cas was a hair puller. He also really, _really_ , did not need to know that.

 The dark blonde head was yanked back while Sam continued having a mild panic attack. Dean gave a shit-eating grin, opening his eyes. “Hey _aahhhh_ , Sammy. Get- _oh fuck_ -my pie?”

 Sam staggered back, falling on his ass as his brother’s normally green eyes darkened. Demonically darkened.

 “ _HOLY FUCKING HELL!_ ” Sam shrieked louder. He scrambled back towards the door, unsure if he was fleeing to get holy water to throw at Dean or just to get the fuck out of the den of iniquity. Apparently he wasn’t getting out fast enough. A hand (not Cas’, Cas’ hands were occupied, _oh God_ , brain bleach needed asap) shot out and Sam was scooted out on his ass to slam against the opposite wall in the hall. The door banged shut without anyone touching it.

 “Holy. Fucking. Hell,” Sam whimpered. He turned tail and ran back down the halls. Oz, with its wicked witches, flying monkeys, and temperamental hunter, sounded like a great vacation spot.


	2. Hell fuckin' Holy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the archangel said unto him; "Go forth and fuck the unholy hell out of your beloved."  
> And the angel did.  
> And it ended happily ever after (in more ways than one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day! Have some explicit, dirty talking destiel smut in honor of this day.  
> A friend who preread this said she kept imaging Mark Sheppard every time she came across the word Mark. Honestly, it works rather well for either him or Mark Pelligrino.

“Sammy’s face was priceless, _oh fuck,_ _go-,_ wish I had a camera, _fuck.._.” Dean’s chuckle trailed off into a gasp as Castiel gave a particular hard thrust.

 

“You should not tease your brother about this Dean. It is a serious matter and Sam was worried about you. We all are,” Cas replied, voice deeper than usual, never letting his rhythm falter.

 

“Yeah, well I’d be more concerned if you weren’t balls deep inside me, come on Cas, _harder_ ,” he whined. Dean rose up, trying to gain more leverage. The sleeping bag was slippery under his arms, making it difficult to get the position he wanted.

 

Cas yanked on his hair, making Dean’s eyelids that were fluttering, slam open wide. Castiel’s eyes were boring a hole through Dean’s while it seemed his cock was trying to do the same to his ass. “Your eyes were black,” he growled, “you managed to release your soul from your body. The Mark of Cain was glowing. My mark on you was _fading_. Tell me why I should do anything you ask when you care so little for things that actually matter, like your safety and wellbeing.”

 

“My sex life is a top priority,” Dean argued, still struggling to rise up. “I’d never do anything to endanger that, that’s why I left my meatsuit; I was trying to find you for the next round. You were the one who left to check on the wonder twins. Guess I slipped out of my body trying to follow you; it was an accident that I found the geeks first. And the Mark is a means to an end. We need it to gank that bitch. Even Gabriel agreed that only the Mark and the Blade would be able to kill her. Once I ice her, it can go back to swimming in the ocean for all I care, now get on with it angel, I thought we had a schedule to keep.” Dean bared his teeth in a facsimile of a smile, eyes dark and hungry.

 

“No.” Cas removed his hand from Dean’s hair to shove him back against the sleeping bag. He pulled out of Dean and dropped down to pin the struggling man. Dean clenched, feeling empty and craving his angel’s dick. “You did not have to take the Mark, Dean. You choose to. Gabriel and I had not exhausted all of our options before you made the decision alone to be a martyr.” Cas traced a hand down Dean’s arm, hovering over the Mark. He glared at the red scar as if he could laser it away. The physical handprint scar on Dean’s shoulder and the invisible one on Dean’s soul, placed where his heart would be, sparked with traces of lightning grace as Cas siphoned his power through them.

 

“I will not let you destroy yourself because you feel like there is no other option. You have taught me that there is always another way. So we will continue to do this until the Mark is banished from you and your soul is restored to its righteous state. I laid claim to you long before Cain. You are _mine_. _Do you understand me Dean Winchester!_

 

Dean’s eyes, which had returned to their normal shade of green after messing with Sam, flickered black in an instant. Cas froze to stare at him with his own blue eyes widening in shock and something close to fear. Dean used the angel’s moment of surprise to flip their positions, supernaturally strong and unwilling to be at the mercy of someone else. One hand pinned Cas’ shoulder down while the other dug into the flesh of Cas’ throat.

 

“ _You_ _won’t_ _let_ _me_ , angel?” Dean demanded, leaning over his captive. “Oh, you got it all wrong, you’ll _let_ me do _whatever the hell_ _I want_ , you can’t stop me, no one can. I ain’t yours, you’re _mine_. And I think it’s time I showed you that.”

 

Cas wheezed around the hand blocking his airway, not needing air to breathe but necessary to speak, to reason with Dean. His eyes rolled away from the dark orbs that were a mockery of his beloved’s own beautiful green ones, to land on the forearm of the limb that was pinning his left shoulder down. The Mark was glowing, smug and defiant, red lines tracing a path through Dean’s veins, spreading its corruptness.

 

Castiel hated it, grace boiling inside him, demanding to be let loose in order to destroy it. He struggled to siphon it cautiously and meticulously, unwilling to destroy Dean if he let it run away without any control. Gabriel and he had come up with a plan that would at least lessen, if not completely remove the Mark without harming Dean in the process. Neither he nor Gabriel had thought of what to do if the Mark refused to be erased, influencing Dean into letting it remain, so the continuation of the process would follow the procedure the Winchesters had taught him: when in doubt, the crazier and more impossible a plan, the more likely it would succeed. Cas would save Dean, he would entertain no other possibility, but he also had to make sure Dean would forgive Cas and himself at the end. He had endured Hell, a civil war of his own making, and Falling. He could endure this.

 

Dean moved above him, releasing his shoulder but holding him place with power that no human should have, to reach behind and toy with Cas’ half hard cock. A few strokes from Dean had Cas’ body responding rapidly to the touch. Dean wasted no time in sinking all the way down, gasping at the sensation and drawing a strangled moan from Cas’ lips. Dean chuckled at the sound and released his grip on Cas’ neck. “I want to hear all those pretty noises properly, angel. After all, we’re just getting this party started.”

 

Dean withdrew almost completely, leaving just the head in before slamming all the way back down, clenching as he went, forcing himself down along Cas’ dick before Cas could reply. “Demons don’t need to ask permission. I can take you whenever I want, however I want. I can force you down and pour myself down your throat till your slick with my very essence.”

 

Dean pulled the other man up to ravish his mouth, greedy lips cutting themselves on Cas’ teeth. “Can you taste me angel, all hot blood and sin. I’m gonna fill you up in ways I never could before. Every hole of your body is mine, to explore, to fill.” A hand traced along Cas’ shoulder blades, fingernails scrapping where his wings would appear to snaked down his spine and headed lower. A single finger rubbed on the outside of the angel’s hole, slipping in with little resistance. “I’m gonna stake my claim so thoroughly all of Heaven and Hell will know your mine. They’ll be able to smell me on you, covered in my come, see my marks carved into your skin and grace. My angelic fucktoy, my slutty little bitch. And you’re gonna take it angel, screaming and moaning for more like the whore you are.” A second finger joined the first, scissoring together inside of the angel while Dean trailed bloody lips up and down Cas’ neck, biting and sucking. Grace exploded on his tongue, the hot burning taste only making Dean crave more. The angel’s neck was going to look like a vampire nest had feed from him. The fingers crooked inside his ass and Cas bucked and moaned like the whore Dean said he was, unsure whether to move back on the talented fingers or forward into the tight heat of Dean’s ass.

 

“How does it feel angel, to fuck a demon? Do you feel dirty, perverse? _Fallen?_ You can tell yourself it’s all for a greater purpose, all part of Daddy’s plan; an angel given the command from on high to fuck the evil out to save the human but you’d be wrong.” Dean’s eyes were still black as he continued fucking himself on Cas’ cock and finger fuck Cas’ ass, grinning mouth bloody and obscene, cock leaking precome to smear between their bodies. He was an incubus sent to tempt an angel, lust and sin made tangible. No other temptation offered Hell made Cas want to sin more than Dean did in that moment.

 

“You want to fuck _me_ , fuck the _demon_. Bury your cock in my hole, force me to take you as punishment for my sins. I can take anything you got. Can you feel me angel? The slickness of my flesh against yours, scorching with sulfur beneath the surface. Every time you touch me with your grace, it burns and bites. I _like_ the pain. Do you angel? I betcha do, a reminder that you can’t just pretend to be an unfeeling heavenly douche. Now you’re down here in the filth and it is _glorious_. I’m gonna make you sing Halle-fucking-lujah when I bear down and _clench_.” Dean suited actions to words and clenched his inner muscles tight enough to drag another shouted moan out of Cas before he bit his lips.

 

A hard, bruising kiss pressed against his lips, forcing him to open his mouth, and then pulled away. “Don’t shut your mouth angel, I wanna hear you. Every moan, scream, and whimper. Any demon would have to put you on the rack to make you sing. I don’t. You’ll give it up to me, willingly, and at my command. Won’t you?” He punctuated his question with a sudden twist of fingers that had Cas garbling out his agreement in a language that wasn’t even human and sounded very much like begging. “Good.”

 

“You’d look gorgeous in chains though. I could chain you, bind your grace, and splay you out across any surface I wish, leaving you at my mercy. Should I take mercy on you angel?” The fingers pressing on his prostate suddenly removed themselves. Cas whimpered at the empty feeling and then let out a shocked groan when Dean telekinetically forced him on his back and splayed him out cross eagled. “Let my hands rake across your flesh, across your throat,” fingers pressed lightly at the bites and bruises there, “pinch your nipples,” experienced fingers pinched and rolled at the sensitive nipples until they were hard little stubs. Dean licked one and then the other, blowing on them after.

The rapid change in physical sensation was sending Cas into a tail spin, only his absolute and fierce need to manage his grace lending him a modicum of control in spite of the assault on his body and emotions.

 

“Trail down to your cock? Play with you until you come all over my hand? Or would you prefer I just fuck you as hard as I can till you’re wrung out and keep on fucking you until your cock gets hard again, you’re such a slutty angel.” Dean admired the picture of his angel beneath him, pale skin covered in bloody fingerprints and hickeys, blue eyes lust filled and wild, absolutely debauched and wrecked. _Perfect_.

 

“I can do that now. Demons have complete control over their meatsuits and baby, this one’s all mine. No refractory period necessary unless I wish. And I don’t. I’m gonna fuck you all night long and straight on till morning. The only time I won’t have my cock in your ass is when it’s down your throat. Have you wrap those pretty, cocksucking lips around me and swallow me down. Think you could suck me out through my dick?” Cas moaned out a noise that sounded suspiciously like ‘yes’. Dean almost wanted him to let him try, but he was so close now. Maybe later.

 

“ _Oh fuck_ , that’s it angel, fuck me _harder_ , make me come. You do, and I’ll letcha come as well. _Harder_ baby, _fucking pound it in_ , come in me. Fuck, fuck, yes, oh fuckin’ hell, _CAS!”_

 

The room lit up in a supernova, Dean’s soul slipping free with the achievement of _la petite mort_ , gently captured in shadowy wings as Cas followed suit and wrapped his true form around his lover. Soul and grace merged into a singular entity, lightning flashing through both. White tendrils overtook red and flushed the corruption out. The brilliant light faded to a muted glow under Castiel’s skin, and then abruptly turned off, plunging the room into a red haze of emergency lighting and the smell of burnt wiring.

 

***                                          ***                                                      ***

 

Consciousness returned sluggishly, mortally slow and muffled. Small aches and stiff muscles were greatly magnified by the inability to turn off the sensations. Cas sunk into the feeling, meticulously pairing them in his mind with each memory of how he received them. He earmarked some of the memories that had caused sincere mutual shivers of anticipation in both Dean and himself. The purification process of removing the Mark of Cain had no quantifiable steps to a final solution, just a hope based on the half-cocked plan of a trickster archangel and an angel who refused to take the word ‘impossible’ at face value. Several more sessions were most likely necessary, no need to make them unpleasant when such a duty could be turned into more pleasurable pursuits.

 

“Remind me to send Gabe a fruit basket.” Dean’s lips caressed the skin of Cas’ shoulder with each word, head resting comfortable on the angel. His voice was languid and satisfied, very much Dean after a night of carnal pleasure. Cas stopped breathing for several seconds upon hearing it. “For once, the feather duster had a good idea. Oh, also I think I’ll need a camera when I tell Sam that you had been ordered by an Archangel of the Lord to fuck me back to spiritual purity. You can’t buy that kind of entertainment.”

 

“Dean?” Cas craned his neck down to stare at the blonde head. He started to scan Dean’s soul, the lingering flares of the supernova still burning bright enough to make his true form blink.

 

The Mark was burning.

 

It was burning out of existence.

 

The edges of the lines and swirls that formed its construct were burning away, like aged parchment set against a candle’s flame, flaking to ash in seconds till only a thin and translucent base of the original Mark remained.

 

It was working.

 

“ _Soooo_ ,” Dean spoke, stretching out the word with an incorrigible grin, “was it good for you? I mean I could feel you trying to bury your grace all up in me, trying to get closer to my soul and all those little whimpers of ‘ _please_ , Dean, _more_ ,’ but really, mindreading isn’t one of the powers that come with this freakin’ thing, so if there was something I did do that you didn’t like, you should have told me. Or, you know, something that I didn’t do that you wanted.”

 

Cas unblinkingly stared at his lover, a thoughtful and indolent look that promised further teasing and pleasurable torture slowly emerging through the blank mask Cas had adopted in shock and relief at seeing the Mark fading.

 

Brushing his lips against the side of Dean’s jaw, Cas trailed kisses across his face, ending at the shell of Dean’s ear.

 

“I think there are some ropes and handcuffs that could easily be transformed for the next round,” he whispered, dark and wicked into his lover’s ear. “I think you would look gorgeous in them, telling me how to fuck you, while I give you only enough give to struggle, but not get what you want until I give it to you. That is what I want Dean.”

 

Dean shivered against him, his cock twitching against his thigh, smearing the results of their earlier session into Cas’s skin.

 

“Holy fuckin’ hell, _yes_.”


End file.
